Jungle Fever
by love.devil.movies.baby
Summary: She wasn't supposed to mean anything at all to him...Derek falls in love with an unlikely woman. Post Movie


Disclaimer: I won none of the characters or plot arcs associated with American History X. This story is in no way to be used for profit, but is simply an exercise in creativity.

A/N: This has been sitting on my hard drive unfinished forever. I finally wrote an ending that I am satisfied with. I know this movie is really old, but the subject matter continues to intrigue me. This short story is a reflection of that. Please review!

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><p>It started out as a mindless fuck. It wasn't supposed to mean anything more than some good old-fashioned bumping and grinding in the back of his pick-up truck. Derek blamed Lamont. It had been Lamont who had put him up to it in the club, who'd dared him to go out and nail one of the girls who were shaking like it was their job out on the dance floor. Derek had known what Lamont was really saying: "go out there and get a black girl." And Derek, knowing he had something to prove to the man he owed his life, went out and did just that.<p>

Her name was Alisha. He'd thought to ask her before he dragged her off of the dance floor and into the parking lot. She was pretty tall for a woman, about 5'7" and shaped like a coke bottle. He didn't know her weight, but she carried it in all the right places. It didn't take much coaxing to get her under him, dress hiked up around her waist, high heel clad feet bouncing around his back, moaning like she was trying to harmonize with the Keith Sweat song on the radio. It'd been damn good sex and Derek privately thought he would have to thank Lamont later for suggesting it. They parted ways shortly after, Alisha with her girls and Derek in his truck, her phone number written in lipstick on a napkin shoved in his pocket.

Lamont gave him shit for it the whole way home and for a week after, refusing to even touch the back seat and saying things like,

"So, you got Jungle Fever now?"

It appeared that Derek did. The irony of his attraction to Alisha didn't escape him. A former skinhead and racist who'd spent the better portion of five years hating her people had no right to like a black girl. Derek told himself this often, when his mind would wander to that scrap of paper he hadn't quite gotten around to throwing out. He didn't talk to Lamont about it. His new roommate was busy getting his shit together and Derek was busy atoning for his sins, one maladjusted kid at a time. He mentioned it to Sweeney though; he meant for it to be a casual thing, just a side note on what'd been going on with his life lately. The professor didn't look fooled for a second. Sweeney had turned his brown bald head and looked at Derek, one bushy brow arched just enough to let him know he was being judged. Derek hastily changed the subject to the new curriculum they were planning and how his mom and sisters had just moved out of the projects and into a new house.

He tried to focus on everything but her, even his brother. Thoughts of Danny sobered him, made him remember that no matter how much he wanted her, he came with way too much baggage. In a week or so, he'd convinced himself and was back to normal.

Still, that didn't explain why he picked up the phone and called her while Lamont was out meeting his parole officer. She sounded surprised, but took it all in good stride. Just the sound of her voice, smooth and rich as honey, had his body thrumming. He'd asked her to dinner and, before he could regret his actions, she said yes.

Dinner started off at a nice place near Venice and ended in a sweaty tangle of sheets in his bed. He compared her to his ex Stacy. He mapped the differences in their bodies with his hands, the flare of Alisha's hips, the round softness of an ass that Stacy had most definitely been missing. Her skin was smoother than Stacy's, unmarred by piercings or tattoos. She moved more fluidly, undulating her hips effortlessly, matching him movement for movement. With Stacy, it had always seemed like they were trying to outdo each other, to see who could be more dominant. Alisha moved with him, giving as good as she got but without all of the anger. She didn't dole out breathless and bossy instructions, but moaned loudly when he hit a good spot. It became like a drug. He'd pick her up once or twice a week, she'd come over to his place and they'd screw until they couldn't move anymore and afterward he'd take her home.

Things began to shift the night she decided to stay over. When they first fell into bed that evening, she reached to peel off his shirt, pointing out that she had yet to see him without it. He laughed, but pushed her hands away and distracted her with some well-placed wet kisses. The panic subsided when she instead grasped the waistband on his jeans. He had her three times that night before she fell asleep on top of him. He cooked her pancakes and bacon the next morning, dropped her off at home and immediately went to make an appointment to get his tattoos erased.

Lamont knew he had a girl he was screwing, but didn't mention it, most likely because he had one too. It was his sister Davina who first noticed, or at least spotted the round hickey on the base of his collarbone. She jerked the neckline of his tank top down, her mouth open to start teasing him. Instead, her eyes widened at the faint pink scar on his chest.

"When did you get it removed?" she asked, her fingers tracing the still raw spot. He told her, and she asked him why.

"What do you mean, why? I can't walk around with that shitty thing stamped on me, can I?" he tried to sound nonchalant, but Davina wasn't having it.

"So, you met a girl?" she asked. When he didn't respond, Davina yelled for their mother. Together the two of them berated him until he was forced to answer.

"Look, she's not my girlfriend, ok? She's just a girl I've been out with a few times."

His mom looked unconvinced but didn't say anything more. Davina would not be silenced.

"I'm going to ask Lamont. He'll tell me." She folded her arms across her chest and Derek was reminded of the arguments they use to have when they were kids.

"You do that," he retorted and stuck out his tongue out at her.

He didn't think she actually _would_ ask. After that, Lamont wouldn't stop bugging him about it either.

"Is it that girl from the club?" he guessed at long last.

"Alisha," Derek corrected him without thinking about it.

"Whoo, shit boy. You've got it bad!" Lamont began to laugh uproariously. "You know what they say—once you go black…."

Derek was beginning to think his friend was right. When he wasn't with her, he was thinking about her. They'd agreed to keep it casual, but there was nothing casual about the way they'd worked out a schedule. She was at his house at least 3 nights during the workweek and he spent nearly all of the weekend with her. He got to know her then. He learned that her favorite color was yellow because she thought it represented happiness. He found out that she loved R&B but had a soft spot for 80s rock. He tucked the facts about her away, like how she'd lived in San Diego all her life, but moved to LA to get a job working for a celebrity magazine and how she missed her three brothers and parents. He memorized the way her bee-stung lips would move when she talked, the color of her favorite lip-gloss and the scent of her signature perfume. He knew where to touch to get the reactions he wanted, knew about the one spot she was ticklish between her hips and the tops of her thighs. Derek knew that she liked to cuddle after sex, that cooking was her passion and that she sang in the shower.

He also knew that there was one huge, glaring fact she didn't know about him. It made him sick to think that his days with her were numbered. She was sure to find out soon, and then it was certain she'd be gone. He just didn't know whether he wanted to be the one to tell her, or if he wanted her to find out from some third party. In the end, he told Sweeney about his dilemma.

"It's up to you." His mentor told him from across his desk. "I wouldn't mention it if you're not serious about this girl." When Derek didn't respond, Sweeney looked up from the paperwork they were going over.

"Derek," he said in a voice that immediately snapped the younger man from his musings. "How do you feel about her?"

His expression left no room for argument or lies and Derek found himself responding, "I think I'm falling for her."

He expected his mentor to spoon feed him a life lesson, to give him step-by-step instructions on what to do next. He did not expect him to begin laughing.

"Boy, are you in trouble," he chortled out between rolling chuckles.

Later, Derek had to admit that he saw the hilarity of the situation. But hindsight gives a person clarity they only wish they had in the moment. In _that_ moment, Derek felt like he was living in some giant soap opera.

Alisha asked about his scars one night as they lay on his couch recovering and watching a movie. Lamont was out with God only knew who, and they were situated in Derek's living room, a long-forgotten bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table. He answered honestly, feeling her body tense underneath his arm.

"So…" she pulled her head up when he had finished the abridged version of his tale, "you just stopped being racist?" her disbelief was evident.

"Not exactly…" he related the story of meeting Lamont, of what had happened in prison. Her expression changed as he talked, flickering from disgust to pity and then something he couldn't read. And then the inevitable happened.

"What were you in prison for?" Her voice was stone cold.

"Did you hear that story a few years back? About the guy who killed the two crips?"

Her face, normally so dark and lovely, lost all color.

"The one who's brother got killed?" she asked quietly. Derek could practically see the headlines running through her mind. It didn't surprise him that the story had made it from LA down to San Diego. His silence was answer enough for her.

"Fuck Derek," she stood up hurriedly, knocking throw pillows to the carpet. "You should have brought that shit up a long damn time ago."

He didn't argue. He had no case. Instead he watched her gather her belongings, stifle a sob and walk out of his front door.

"So you told her?" Lamont asked when he returned around two in the morning to see Derek staring at the blank television screen. When all he got was a dirty look, he continued. "What the fuck did you expect man?"

Derek rubbed his eyes. "I don't know."

"Let her cool off. Call her in a few days. If she even picks up, she's a damn saint. Shit, if she picks up, that might be wifey right there." Lamont flopped down and started shoveling popcorn into his mouth. "Damn, this shit is stale." He reached for a beer on the table, popping the tab and handing it to Derek before seizing one for himself.

Despite the fact that he felt like his heart was about to drop out of his ass, Derek found himself smiling.

"Thanks Lamont." He hoped his best friend knew it was for more than the beer.

"Don't mention it, white boy." Lamont flicked the television on, selecting Die Hard. "But keep in mind what I've done for you before I give you the news."

"What news?" Derek took a chug.

"You know that girl I've been seeing?" Derek nodded. "Well, it's starting to get serious."

"So?" Derek tried to ignore the pang of jealousy.

"So, it's your sister." Lamont told him nonchalantly, but moved an inch to the left in anticipation for a violent reaction.

There was an awkward pause then finally, "That's cool."

Lamont sighed in relief. "Thank God. I was worried you were going to revert back to your Negro hating ways."

Derek did hit him then, but lightly on the shoulder. "You hurt her, and they're going to have to throw me back in prison without you man."

They spent the rest of the night kicked out on the couch, watching action movie after action movie, content to drink beer and talk shit. Derek was thankful for the distraction, especially since he knew his friend had work. However, when Lamont headed out of the door, Derek was left alone with his thoughts. He held out for two days before he picked up the phone to call her, but every time he left a message, they went unanswered.

Lamont tried, unsuccessfully, to pull him out of his funk. Derek was thankful for the efforts, but spent most of his downtime keeping himself busy. He worked harder than ever to bring down the organization that he helped start, testifying against former friends, speaking in grade schools around LA and, at the suggestion of Sweeney, writing about his time after his father was killed. He even went back to Chino prison and sat down face to face with the kid who murdered Danny. To his surprise, he found that he couldn't hate him. He visited Jerome every other day for a month before the kid opened up enough to listen to him. Derek told him he knew what prison was like and knew about living with anger and hate, and that life was just too short to hold onto it. Derek promised he'd try to get him out early if Jerome promised to help him in the future. The kid didn't say anything, but it was enough at the moment.

Two and a half months passed and he slowly slid out of his dark depression. He went out with Lamont and a few other guys; he babysat his sister Ally and helped Davina study for her finals. He enrolled in a few courses at the community college, kept writing his book and every day felt a little better. But at night, the dreams still came. Sometimes, it was the old nightmares of Danny and prison. He'd wake up with the feel of cold wet tile against his face and knees, the smell of blood and soap in his senses. Better dreams involved Alisha-flashes of the curve of her waist and the taste of her skin mixed in and he would wake up, body rock hard and flushed in cold sweat.

He bumped into her where he least expected it, after a meeting with his parole officer. He shuffled into the diner that he and Danny used to eat at to grab a quick cup of joe. Her back was to him but he recognized her immediately. Her hair had changed, the braids had been replaced by a smooth flat style that flipped out at the ends. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, trying to formulate a game plan. He was still staring when she turned around. She immediately assumed a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"Hey."

That's what he managed to stutter out. Nothing clever, not even something like, 'God I've missed you'. Just the word 'hey'.

"Hey Derek," she worried her lower lip between her teeth. He had the urge to lean forward and kiss her until he couldn't breathe, but he resisted.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" he offered, gesturing to the menu and praying to a God he wasn't sure he believed in that she said yes.

"I don't think that's a good idea Derek. I—"

She was cut off by the approach of another man. He handed her a takeout box without sparing a second look for Derek. He was tall, dark skinned and well-built. He looked right at home standing next to Alisha's coke-bottle form.

"Ready to go?" the man asked impatiently. Alisha nodded, hastily gathering her purse and shoving it on her arm.

"See you around," she told him as she shuffled by. Derek nodded weakly at her.

He waited a few moments for her to get in the tall, dark stranger's car and drive off. Then he turned around, knocking the door open so hard the bell nearly came off and ignoring the waiter's cry that he hadn't had his coffee yet.

The next few hours were spent in a haze where Derek wasn't sure whether he wanted to lock himself in his room or drink until he forgot Alisha even existed. Lamont convinced him that the latter was the superior plan. So he found himself at the club where they first met, downing alcohol and feeling worse with every shot. He stumbled back into his house hours later and made an immediate dash for the bathroom. He was vaguely aware of the sound of the phone ringing as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

"Will you grab that damn thing?"Lamont hollered from somewhere else in the house. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Derek was just able to get out of the way before his roommate replaced him in front of the porcelain basin.

Determining that his roommate would be all right after he hurled, Derek washed his mouth out, grabbed the handheld receiver and drunkenly slurred a greeting.

"Derek, shit…I thought I'd get the answering machine."

"Alisha?" he asked, certain that he was hallucinating in his drunken state.

"Yeah…are you drunk?" her tone went from nervous to accusatory.

"No," he answered as another wave of nausea overtook him. He swallowed it, determined to appear sober. He shuffled into his room and shut out the sound of Lamont retching. "I figured I wasn't going to ever hear from you, especially after today." He cut straight to the point, sitting down on his bed to stop the room from spinning.

"That's what I called about. That guy…" she trailed off. "He's not my boyfriend or anything. He's a cousin." It came out in a rush, as though she said it all in one breath.

"You called to tell me you had lunch with your cousin?" even in a sober state of mind, he was pretty sure nothing about this would make sense.

"And I'm sorry I haven't answered your calls. It's just…it was a lot to swallow, you know?

"Yeah. I do." He said. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. "I miss you." He blurted.

"Derek..." She sounded borderline panicked. "This isn't a good idea."

"It was working out fine before."

"What, when you would pick me up, sex me up and drop me back off?" her voice took on a hard edge.

"Come on, you know it wasn't like that. Maybe in the very beginning, but not—" he paused, refusing to say 'at the end.' "Not anymore." He continued. She didn't respond so he pressed his luck. "Let me ask you a question; if I hadn't told you, where would we be right now?"

"We'd probably be sitting on your couch watching crappy late night television." She said after a long pause.

"So, do you want to come over and watch movies with me?" the alcohol gave him courage to ask the question.

"Tonight? And then what, we pretend that you weren't a racist murderer?" she asked.

"If you didn't want to give me a chance, then why did you call, Alisha?" Derek asked her in return. She remained silent. "How about you come to dinner at my mom's house tomorrow? It won't be a big deal," he added before she could protest, "I just want you to meet my family."

He was shocked at his own boldness, but even more so when she said yes.

His mom put on all the bells and whistles. Her new dining room was spotless, the tablecloth had not a wrinkle and she set out her wedding china. She looked happy again, something Derek hadn't seen since before his dad died. Davina had invited Lamont and Ally had on a pretty princess dress, the one she reserved only for the best of occasions. They smiled at Alisha, who looked uncertain as she walked in.

Dinner was like walking on a glass floor. Alisha was still skittish and unsure, but Derek was determined not to let her leave. Lamont managed to break the ice first, making the table laugh with some outlandish tale about a man he saw walking downtown in a tall tee and no pants. His presence and his easy going nature with Derek seemed to relieve Alisha and she even laughed at his jokes. Davina hit it off well, and the two women eagerly discussed current affairs. Ally sat in Alisha's lap like she was meant to be there, absent-mindedly twirling the long strands of dark hair around her little fingers. Derek watched them, unaware that his mom watched him with a small smile on her face. Eventually the subject came around to the status of their relationship.

"So, is my son lucky enough to be dating you?" his mom asked.

Derek flushed and shot her a warning look, but she just smiled and looked at Alisha expectantly. Alisha looked around at him, then back at his mother.

"You could say that," she reached for his hand and gave it a small but firm squeeze.

Later that night, after they helped do the dishes, tucked Ally in, and watched Davina and Lamont head out to the movies, Derek drove her back to his house.

"You want to come in?" he asked. She nodded slowly, almost imperceptivity. Derek took her hand and led her inside, down the hall and straight to his bedroom. She stood nervously in front of the bed as he rummaged in his drawer for a t shirt and a pair of boxers. He handed them to her as he shrugged out of his button down shirt. She took them wearily, only removing her dress when Derek flopped down calmly to the bed, patted the space next to him and flipped on the TV on his dresser. She climbed in slowly, and when she reached him he pulled her towards him and kissed her. Her fingers groped for the hem of his boxers, but he gently pushed them away, instead grasping her hand in his own and pulling her to his side.

She looked surprised, but settled down to lie next to him. They watched television in increasingly comfortable silence, the light from the screen throwing shadows across both of their faces. Derek awoke in the morning with Alisha still pressed into the crook of his arm, cramped and sore, but well-rested. They got dressed for their respective days quickly, avoiding eye contact.

"Can I see you later tonight?" he asked her as she gathered her purse and headed for his door.

"Tonight's no good." His stomach fell until she straightened up and looked him in the eye. "But you can take me to breakfast tomorrow morning."

She dropped a casual kiss on his lips, waved and headed out the door. He watched her go, scarcely believing his luck.

He spent the remainder of their relationship in a similar state of disbelief. Months later, on the morning after she replaced Lamont as his roommate, he was sure that he was going to wake up to find his room the same as ever—white walled and hopelessly masculine. Instead he found her pictures (framed tastefully) sitting on the bedside table and his comforter replaced by the one that had previously been on her bed. She insisted that they go to Home Depot and pick paint colors for the wall to liven the place up.

They were engaged before they managed to get the whole of his little house painted the way she liked it. Her next project was to redo the kitchen and guest room before her parents came up to meet him. They spent a memorable month of weekends on their hands and knees, pulling out the old counter, sanding down the cabinets and painting them a bright yellow. It looked like the sun against the blue of the walls.

Her family was the next hurdle for him to clear. If he thought that getting Alisha back had been difficult, securing the approval of her parents and three brothers was something altogether Herculean. In the end it was Jerome, freshly paroled, who aided his cause. He didn't know what Jerome said to change their opinion of Derek so drastically. He suspected the mere fact that Jerome and he were on speaking turns spoke volumes. It took the better part of the year, but Derek at least convinced them to come to the wedding.

They got married in the spring. The bridesmaids were decked out in a lighter hue of Alisha's favorite color and he had a yellow rose tucked into the button hole of his rented tuxedo. The ceremony went by in a blur, with Derek focusing on breathing steadily, not locking his knees and saying his vows without sounding like an idiot. At their reception they danced to "Back at One" by Brian McKnight. Derek clung to her tightly, vaguely aware of the eyes of everyone he knew- Sweeney, Lamont, his mother and sisters, Alisha's family and even Jerome- trained on he and his wife.

Her hand clutched his almost painfully, their simple gold wedding bands glinting against the contrast of their skin—white and black twisted together.

Derek looked down at them, dropped a kiss on the palm of Alisha's hand, and smiled.


End file.
